


with a boy like that it's serious

by kevystel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Podfic Available, Self Confidence, Social Media, Viktor POV, god bless katsuki yuuri and his character development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8542771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kevystel/pseuds/kevystel
Summary: ‘I’m dating Viktor,’ Yuuri says, nervous despite himself.
  ‘Seriously?’ Yurio demands. ‘I thought the two of you were already married.’
Viktor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri are an item. The world reacts.

(Translated into Chinese here!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from eros and apollo by studio killers, which i swear i have heard on every victuuri playlist ever

At the press conference after the awards ceremony, Katsuki Yuuri — GPF gold medallist, Japan’s top skater, twenty-three years old — looks into the blinding flashes of the cameras singing beneath him, into the face of the reporter who has just asked him a question, and says (the sweat still drying in his hair, his cheeks flushed and his eyes feverishly bright): ‘I owe everything to my partner, Viktor Nikiforov.’

They’re speaking English. It is Yuuri’s second language. It could be a mistake; a misinterpretation; the nuances of Yuuri’s rich excitement twisted in translation. But he went to college in Detroit. And then he repeats himself in Japanese, since the reporter is from the Tokyo press, so there can’t be any doubt.

The announcer blinks. The crowd of assembled reporters — American, Japanese, French, and more — bursts into an uproar. In his seat next to Yuuri, caught in the middle of taking a drink from his bottle of mineral water, Yuri Plisetsky groans. In Hasetsu Yuuri’s mother gazes placidly at the television, chin propped in her hands. Yuuri clutches his gold medal and looks blankly into the camera as if he’s not quite sure what he’s done.

Viktor, for his part, is not surprised. There’s his Yuuri — spontaneous where Viktor is careful and calculating, a streak of precious wildfire, breathtaking and unpredictable.

_‘I owe everything to my partner —’_

_‘I owe everything to my —’_

For the second time in a year, Katsuki Yuuri goes viral.

* * *

‘You stupid boy!’ Yakov thunders over the phone. Then he sighs; it echoes down the line in a burst of static, harsh and corrugated, directly into Viktor’s ear. Viktor leans against the door and adjusts the weight of the laundry basket in his arms. ‘Well, now I understand, at least. I will see you at the Grand Prix Final next year. Try not to come back to Russia if you can help it.’

‘You’re too good to me, Yakov,’ Viktor says. He switches the phone from left ear to right and tucks it against his shoulder, pausing to peel Yuuri’s crumpled practice shirts from the pile and drop them into the waiting mouth of the machine. The soft fabric, worn thin from long cold afternoons and sunset runs, catches on his fingers: a glimmer of laundry soap and Yuuri’s shampoo lingering still, the sweat of the rink.

Yakov’s gruff irritation rings pleasantly in Viktor’s ears. He allows Yakov’s words to wash over him, as he has done for the past ten years or so, taking notice only when the mindless comfort of chores catches on a familiar name: ‘— you watch out, Vitya, next year Georgi won’t lose to your boy.’

‘Oh, well,’ replies Viktor comfortably. ‘He lost to _me_ many times, didn’t he? And I dare say Yuuri is —’

‘ _Excuse me?_ ’

‘Goodbye, Yakov!’

* * *

‘I am _this close_ to unfollowing you on Instagram,’ Yurio snaps. Hair sticking to his forehead, he leans against the barrier and glowers at Viktor with a kind of kittenish resignation. ‘So it’s true, then?’

Viktor stays silent. He glances over to Yuuri to provide the confirmation, although inside he’s glowing white-hot enough that Yurio must surely be able to see it on his face.

‘Oh. Yes. I —’ Yuuri flushes deeply, like he’s been doing for the past few weeks whenever somebody brings up that (in Yuuri’s words) disastrous press conference. Yuuri is not used to this much attention. It makes him run his mouth, he says — to which Viktor says, _but you don’t regret it_ , and it isn’t a question.

Yurio makes an impatient, _I-don’t-have-all-day_ noise. Yurio is fifteen and has better things to do with his life, like order an endless string of fur-lined leather jackets online and call Mila a hag until she throws him over her shoulder like a sack of wet sand.

‘I’m dating Viktor,’ Yuuri says, nervous despite himself.

‘ _Seriously?_ ’ Yurio demands. ‘I thought you two were already married.’ He tosses his towel down on the bench and stalks away in disgust.

* * *

Yuuri goes to Skate America and wins. He goes to the NHK Trophy and wins. He warms up under Viktor’s keen, assessing stare and takes Viktor’s criticisms _(‘Mind your free leg!’ ‘You could land a quadruple salchow at the Cup of China, why can’t you land one now?’_ ) in stride. Viktor, fiercely fond, holds him tightly before he swoops away onto the ice to skate his programs, every time; it’s a ritual they have, passionate in its burning sanctity. It is as much of a good-luck charm for Yuuri as the Makkachin tissue box used to be, for Viktor, when he was still competing. This is what the world narrows to — Yuuri resting his elbows on the barrier between them, pulse shuddering adrenaline-hot in the tight enclosure of his costume, leaning in to taste the love and belief and _faith_ on Viktor’s breath because they both know Yuuri can’t actually see Viktor very clearly without his glasses.

Viktor is not above just kissing Yuuri on the mouth, one day, in full view of the other skaters and the press. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch from what they’re already doing. He’s saving that for a time when Yuuri’s nerves will really need it. It’s bound to happen eventually.

‘Well, congratulations,’ Christophe murmurs. He gives Viktor a shrewd, knowing look. ‘I think he’s good for you.’

Viktor hums noncommittally. He stands beside Christophe with his hands in his coat pockets, watching people toss flowers and plushies onto the ice as Yuuri, breathless, holds out his arms in welcoming wonder at the applause. Every time Yuuri competes, it seems that Viktor can feel the deep pure cutting motions of the blades thrumming in his own bones — that the gleaming light of the cheering, reflected off Yuuri’s face, is an echo of what Viktor remembers from when he dominated the rink. That wasn’t such a long time ago. He can feel it: the blur of wild yet precise music. The burn of his muscles. The clean perfection of his jumps. Does he miss this? He doesn’t know. He’s standing on the wrong side of the barrier now. He posts photos of very different things, these days: the brightly lit festivals in Japan, the quiet station where he waits for the train to take him to the airport, the violet flush of dusk, the sweetness of flowers opening in spring. Pictures with Yuuri. Pictures _of_ Yuuri, his hair mussed and his face buried in Makkachin’s damp fur, soft and intimate against the pillows that radiate the borrowed warmth of their bodies. Viktor deletes the less savoury comments off his Instagram before Yuuri can see them. Viktor was Yuuri’s childhood idol but Viktor has found his hero.

* * *

Yuuri’s parents, who quietly adopted Viktor the moment he arrived from Russia and showed their only son his dick, make no mention of the events on national TV. Evidently, it doesn’t make any difference to them — Viktor and Yuuri have been living together for god knows how long, breathing and skating together, learning the oxygen of each other’s insides. He speaks decent Japanese to them (Yuuri smiles at Viktor’s foreigner accent; he’s working on losing that) and he helps out around the inn and that is enough.

Yuuri’s sister Mari is another matter. She looks him up and down, taking her time about it, cigarette dangling from her mouth as she evaluates him thoroughly in silence from head to toe, and finally goes: ‘Hmm.’

‘Hmm?’ echoes Viktor pleasantly, as he brings another chunk of pork to his lips with his chopsticks.

‘Don’t look at me.’ Arms folded, Mari turns away from him in the doorway. ‘Shifting all those boxes for you that first time will be the _last time_. You can move your stuff into Yuuri’s room yourself.’

* * *

Skaters mingle. It’s a fact of life. Before and after competitions, there are dinners and drunken group photos and last-minute, excited meetups; and somehow Yuuri and Viktor have gone from their separate, solitary selves to _Yuuri-and-Viktor_ , one never without the other. Asteroids in orbit. Viktor, who knows he’s always been too intimidating to be drawn into the sunny gravitational pull of rinkmates and rivals and _friends_ , takes some time to get used to it, at first.

Mainly this is because it means he has to spend time with the other coaches. It’s common for skaters to date other skaters. It is not so common for skaters to date their coaches — well, Viktor has built his reputation on taking the unprecedented route.

‘Ah, now everything makes sense,’ exclaims Celestino in deep satisfaction, the first time they meet after Yuuri’s announcement (which now has nearly a million views on YouTube). ‘Well! Don’t play around! If you break his heart, I will be the first to come for you.’

‘Is anyone giving this speech to Yuuri on my behalf?’ Viktor asks. He’s genuinely curious.

* * *

Mila meeting Yuuri is everything Viktor expected. Yuuri takes a while to warm up to new people, and Mila is more comfortable in Russian than in English; but then she skates a full loop around the rink while lifting Yurio effortlessly over her head and Yuuri is shocked, and then impressed, and then enchanted.

‘Be good to our Viten’ka,’ she tells him. Yuuri nods and gestures. Viktor, next to the lockers, smiles into his sports drink and pretends not to hear.

* * *

On the way back from the Grand Prix Final, Yurio dozes off on Viktor’s shoulder in the taxi, drooling into Viktor’s sleeve. When he wakes up he glances ferociously around him and Viktor and Yuuri both pretend not to have noticed anything.

It’s raining as they traipse back to the hotel, huddled under the cover of Viktor’s coat. Yurio, still slender and graceful and taking up the least space among them, grumbles: ‘We could all fit better if you’d just _take your arms off each other_ —’

‘Never,’ Viktor and Yuuri reply simultaneously. It makes sense, after all: Yuuri is squeezed up against Viktor to make room for Yurio, his arm tight and steady around Viktor’s waist, cheek pressed against Viktor’s shoulder and his smile so wide.

It’s past midnight and Yurio is too tired to order his own ice cream but he apparently has enough energy left in him to be dramatic.

‘The rain isn’t even that heavy,’ Viktor points out. ‘Hush! We’re almost there.’

Yurio heaves a long-suffering sigh as only Yurio can. ‘I can’t even see where we’re going —’

‘Oh! Sorry,’ says Yuuri hastily, twitching the edge of the coat out of Yurio’s eyes.

‘— are we lost? It’s so fucking dark! What are you going to do if we get stuck out here for the night, huh? I don’t want to die in a foreign country. I don’t even speak the language! What would you say if that happened? _Huh, Yuuri?_ ’

‘Exactly what Vitya would say,’ Yuuri responds. He lowers his voice a notch and puts on a brilliant smile, shakes his wet hair from his eyes: ‘ _Vkusno!_ ’

Yurio nearly trips over a crack in the pavement. ‘That’s. That’s not even _right_ , it’s the wrong — why do I put up with you guys, why do I…? Stop laughing, Vitya!’

* * *

It’s like a dream. An in-joke from the universe. Phichit sends the link to Yuuri, and Viktor logs into his account for the first time in months to find the video all over Twitter: _Kenjiro Minami Skates Katsuki Yuuri’s Short Program “On Love: Eros”!_

‘He’s only seventeen years old. I am a bit disturbed,’ Yuuri says, wiping the perspiration from his face with one of Makkachin’s tissues.

Yurio pokes his head over Viktor’s shoulder, scowling at the phone screen. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I’m fifteen.’

‘Yes, we know,’ Yuuri says meaningfully and then laughs, his voice soft and fond, to take away any sting in the words.

Yurio growls and pushes himself off the barrier, gliding out smoothly into another clean lap around the rink. ‘You’re a bad influence on him, Vit’ka.’

* * *

Yuuri, hot-cheeked and panting against the chaotic blankets, the sheets tangled around their ankles, his hair a mess and his mouth bitten and beloved: ‘I’m okay. I’m okay.’ Holds up a hand, to say: _wait_. Breathes. Sits up after a moment, knees still trembling a little from the force of it, and presses his burning face to Viktor’s shoulder.

‘I wish we could stay like this forever,’ Yuuri almost-whispers, as Viktor’s back cools against the damp windowpane, his nose snugly buried in Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri so rarely talks after sex — is usually quiet and drowsy and slow, his eyes half-lidded and so soft, loose-limbed and relaxed — that Viktor can’t think what to say for a few seconds. He kisses Yuuri’s forehead. ‘Like this?’ he asks, his voice all shot, trying to tease out the meaning. ‘With… with nobody looking, nobody knowing, yes?’

‘Mmm.’

Yuuri’s arms are warm and _real_ around Viktor and his eyelids are low, brimming over with sleep already, blue-veined and comfortable. Viktor’s heart is running too hot for himself, too loud for himself. ‘Really?’ he says, wondering at the swell of it. ‘You’re the envy of quite a lot of people, my Yuuri.’

‘Good,’ says Yuuri.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me yelling about these figure skating bfs on [tumblr](http://www.kevystel.tumblr.com)  
> edit 17/11/16: this was written before ep 7 came out........i cannot BELIEVE........yuri!!! on ice is a blessing

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [with a boy like that it's serious by kevystel [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8673361) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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